It had been a minute since he’d looked in the mirror. If that was true, it would be a long while before he did so again, because he’d looked positively wretched before leaving for the trip.
Christian running off without a word had seemed the final nail in the coffin of his hope. He’d intended to give up entirely on ever having that special connection with someone. Amazing how easily he’d forgotten to be despondent once Evan had entered the picture. An auspicious start, most definitely, but even in the throes of catty bickering and snap judgements, Evan had effortlessly taken his focus away from being sad about Christian.
“You’re not even kind of listening, are you?”
“What? God, I’m sorry. I’m a little distracted. I never got that grading done, so I have a lot to do this weekend.”
“That’s all it is?”
“That’s all.”
Manuel patted his thigh. “Don’t fret. You’re the most resilient of us. You’ll find a way through, like you always do.”
chapter 33
. . .
Eight Months Later:
“Mr. L, we need to talk.”
Heath looked up from the stack of papers teetering dangerously on his desk and arched an eyebrow. “About?”
Dylan, who was now slightly less lanky than back in April, stood across from him, holding up the paperback he’d assigned that afternoon. “You want me to read this entire book?”
“That is still the point of reading, Dylan. Yes.”
“It’s Christmas break.”
“I am aware.”
“You want me to spend this, the most holiest of holidays, reading?”
“I thought you were an atheist?”
“I’m open-minded.”
Heath refused to laugh, though it nearly killed him. He could feel the blood vessels in his head straining. “Dylan, I want you to spend the holidays with your friends and family,having a lovely time.”
Dylan’s shoulders relaxed, a huge smile creeping across his face.
“I also want you to read that book.”
“C’mon!”
“Oooh, is thatWuthering Heights? I love Bronte!”
Dylan’s jaw dropped as Heath stood with a cheer and reached both hands out to a gorgeously bundled-up Isabella. “How did you get in here?”
“Abby met me at the door and vouched for me. I wanted to see your room!”
“Uh, Mr. L?”
“Yes, Dylan.”
He held out his fist, eyes plastered to Isabella’s rosy-cheeked smile. “Nice work.”
“Dylan, this is myfriendIsabella. Izzy, this is Dylan.”
